


Fragile Machine

by Captain_Kieren



Series: Connor Hurt/Comfort Series [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Carrying, Depressed Hank Anderson, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Doctors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, No Character Death, Protective Hank Anderson, Surgery, Technicians, Temporary Character Death, amanda is creepy af, and yet here we are, cole anderson - Freeform, damaged biocomponent, good son connor, hank is scared shitless for like five different reasons, hurt Connor, i've written a dozen fics on here and i still dont know how to tag, injured Connor, this was supposed to be just a short hurt comfort fic, wow once again this is waaay more than i intended to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 11:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kieren/pseuds/Captain_Kieren
Summary: When Connor is shot in the chest, the bullet lodges into his thirium regulator. Hank rushes him to the nearest technician, but things quickly go from bad to worse. While Hank struggles with rising memories of Cole and the terror of losing his second son, Connor makes a life-threatening discovering.





	Fragile Machine

Connor shoves Hank to the ground 3/4 of a second before the suspect pulls the trigger.

¼ of a second before the bullet shreds the relatively thin metal casing that contains several of his vital biocomponents. Including his thirium pump regulator.

Connor doesn’t go down all the way, his knee hitting the floor and keeping him upright as his synthetic muscles stiffen in response to the pain.

Perhaps that’s why Hank doesn’t know he’s been hit.

The lieutenant scrambles back to his feet and attempts to give chase as the suspect flees on foot through the open window. He grabs the rogue android’s ankle as it dives out into the driving rain, but Hank’s hands slip and the suspect gets up and sprints down the alley. “Fuck!” Hank yells.

He whirls on Connor. “The fuck are you doin’? It’s gettin’ away!”

“Hank…” Connor wheezes. He’s doubled in on himself, protecting the wound. He pulls his arm back, his optical display breaking for a second a gush of thirium flows his down his shirt. “I’m hit…”

**[CRITICAL SYSTEM MALFUNCTION]**

**[MULTIPLE SYSTEMS ERROR]**

**[BIOCOMPONENT #8456w DAMAGED]**

**[BIOCOMPONENT #6970 DAMAGED]**

**[BIOCOMPONENT #1101j DAMANGED]**

**[SHUTDOWN IMMINENT]**

            Every ounce of color drains out of Hank’s face. He forgets the suspect, disappearing into the storm, and drops to one knee in front of Connor. “How bad is it?”

            Connor pauses. It takes his processor longer than usual to compute the damage. “Several of my vital biocomponents were damaged upon impact… Two of them are still functioning at manageable levels, but—”

He cringes at the flashing error sign that pops up.

**[SHUTDOWN IMMINENT]**

**[THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR DAMAGED]**

**[THIRIUM LEVELS DROPPING]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 3:00]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 2:59]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 2:58]**

“My thirium pump regulator was severely damaged.”

“English, Connor!”

“My heart—” Connor covers the wound again, trying to stem the flow of blue blood that’s soaking through his jacket. “The bullet penetrated my heart.”

**[SHUTDOWN IN 2:51]**

Hank is visibly floored. “Fuck… _fuck_! All right—” He scooches closer, his hands hovering uselessly around Connor. “What can I do?”

Connor bites his lip. It’s a bad plan.

Unfortunately, it’s his only plan. The closest machine shop is fifteen minutes away. Connor will be long dead by then.

**[SHUTDOWN IN 2:48]**

“You will have to remove the thirium pump regulator and coax the bullet out without damaging it further. Once it’s back inside me, my self-heal systems should repair the worst of the impairments. At least until I get a new regulator.”

**[SHUTDOWN IN 2:38]**

“ _Take it out?_ Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No—” Connor interrupts, his voice strained but deadly serious. “I’m not fucking with you, Hank. It’s the only way. I would do it myself, but I won’t be in any condition once the regulator is out of me. Please—” He gropes for Hank’s hand and squeezes. “I have only two minutes and twenty-nine seconds left before complete shutdown. I trust you.”

Hank looks like he’s going to be sick with terror. “Okay, okay! Just…tell me what to do.”

Connor pulls open the front of his shirt. His projected skin is slick with blue blood. He wipes it away to make a window for Hank to work, ignoring the spike of agony that comes with touching the wound.

For the first time since the revolution, Connor thinks, _I am a machine. I am a machine. Machines do not feel pain. I am a machine._

He points to the damaged biocomponent with a shaking hand. “Right there. You have to be quick. Don’t worry about hurting me.”

Hank doesn’t even hesitate. His face is stone.

He grabs the regulator as best he can and _yanks_.

Connor screams at the ceiling.

Hank jumps, still clutching the leaking thirium pump in his hand. He gapes at Connor with huge, terrified eyes. He’s never heard him scream before.

“I’m all right!” Connor snaps before he wastes any more time worrying. The timer has jumped down considerably. “Just get the bullet out!”

**[!!!BIOCOMPONENT MISSING!!!]**

**[THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR MISSING]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 1:30]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 1:29]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 1:28]**

The bullet is lodged in the regulator’s casing. Connor knew before he even saw it. If it had penetrated the inner workings of the biocomponent, Connor would have died instantly. There would have been no saving him. It’s sheer luck he’s alive.

The suspect shot to kill.

Hank grabs the end of the bullet, a .45 caliber, and wrenches it with all his might, but it’s small and slippery with blood. He can’t keep ahold of it. “Fuck! Shit!” he swears.

Connor tries to stay upright, for Hank’s sake. And for his own.

If he were to collapse, Hank’s stress would skyrocket. His hands would shake. It would be that harder to remove the bullet.

So, he plants himself with both hands and focuses on staying upright.

**[!!!BIOCOMPONENT MISSING!!!]**

**[THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR MISSING]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 0:59]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 0:58]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 0:57]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 0:56]**

**[SHUTDOWN IN 0:55]**

 

* * *

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

            The fucking thing is too slippery.

            Hank wipes the regulator on his jacket, trying to get some of the damn thirium off. The bullet is tiny, just barely over an inch long. And it’s lodged ass-deep in Connor’s heart.

            Fuck. _Shit._

This ain’t gonna work.

He needs some kind of tool. A knife.

Hank scans the dark room. They chased the suspect into an old warehouse that used to store plane parts before it got foreclosed. Now, there are crates stacked everywhere that no one cares about. Tools hanging on the walls. A lot of them are missing, stolen, but some are still there.

Mostly big shit, nothing that can help get a tiny bullet out of a fragile, metal heart. Still, Hank jumps up and starts ripping open drawers. He’ll turn the place inside out if that’s what it takes.

“Connor? You still with me?” he shouts over his shoulder.

“Yes…” The reply is aching small. Barely a breath.

Hank can’t waste time looking at him. Not until he finds some junky’s old pen knife stashed in the corner. Perfect.

He races back to Connor, and his heart drops.

Connor is on his back, legs bent awkwardly under him, his arms hugging the gaping hole in his abdomen. Androids are naturally pale, colorless creatures, but if it’s at all possible, Connor is deathly white.

Hank’s hands tremble as he carefully sticks the knife under the bullet. “How much time we got left?” he demands, working the blade deeper and deeper, all the while chanting in his head, _Don’t break. Don’t break. Don’t break. Don’t break._

He’s not sure if he’s talking to the knife, or to the regulator.

Connor swallows. It’s hard for him to speak. “Fifteen…seconds…” he manages to get out.

_Shit!_

Something in the regulator gives.

For about half of a second, Hank is certain something broke.

But then, the bullet wiggles loosely.

Oh, thank Christ.

It takes a quick tap to get the round to fall out with a _ping_ onto the concrete.

“Connor, Connor, I got it.” Hank slides closer. He grabs his boy’s hands and pushes the regulator into them. “All right, kid. Shove it back in. Do your thing.”

Connor’s eyes are barely open. He doesn’t even try to wrap his fingers around the regulator.

“Connor? _Connor!_ Come on!” Hank slaps his cheek, hard. “Put the fucking thing back in before you shut down!”

Weak, clumsy hands grasp the regulator and Hank guides them to the empty, bloody hole in his chest. All Connor has to do is push it down. And he does.

His body jolts. His LED—previously blood red—flashes yellow before cycling back to crimson.

His back arcs off the ground and he drags in a choking gasp.

Hank pulls Connor into his lap with one hand still holding down on the regulator. “Connor? How’s it going? You okay?”

Connor’s eyes flutter and he visibly swallows his words. His mouth moves wordlessly.

“I…” He chokes out. “I’m attempting…to repair the…damage…”

His LED is cycling and cycling.

Hank hangs onto him like his life depends on it.

Finally, seconds after the shutdown timer should have ended, Connor’s LED cycles into yellow and stays there. He lets his eyes fall shut for a second, but his smiles exhaustedly.

“Repairs are underway,” he says, and Hank releasing a shaking breath. “I’ll survive.”

“Oh, God…” he groans, rubbing his chest. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, Connor…” He takes a moment to breathe and lower his blood pressure before asking, “What about your other damaged parts? They still okay?”

Connor nods. His eyes are shut again, but he’s breathing easily. Probably trying to reduce his stress levels, like Hank. “Yes,” he says. He sounds fucking tired. “They’ll hold until I can get replacements.”

Drowsy brown eyes crack open. Connor starts to sit up but sways and Hank pushes him down again. “Thank you, Hank,” he says anyway. “You did extremely well.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t the first time I’ve performed first aid on a shot cop,” Hank mutters. “First time on an android though,” he adds dryly.

Connor smirks. “Was it easier?”

“Fuck no. I didn’t even like that other cop. It’s a lot more stressful when I actually give a shit about the guy who’s dying.”

“Fair enough,” Connor says.

Hank squints out through the pouring rain. “Think you can make it to the car?”

Connor nods again. “I should be fine now.” Even so, the moment he gets to his feet, his left knee gives out and he falls back down. Hank swears and Connor actually _feels_ his regulator rattle loosely inside him.

It’s a disturbing sensation.

One more jolt like that and the damaged piece could fall right out of him.

“Actually, I think I could use some help,” Conner says, squeezing his chest.

“Yeah, no shit.” Hank helps him to his feet, keeping one arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He shoves the door open and they limp to Hank’s vintage car.

Hank helps him slide into the backseat and tells him to lay down and hang on. They’re gonna break some speeding laws.

For once, Connor just does as he’s told.

 

* * *

 

Hank speeds to the nearest CyberLife store.

            Technically, they’re called “machine shops” now and all their fancy equipment has been altered for the purpose of restoring and maintaining damaged androids. Kind of like the Urgent Care of the android world. They’re all run by androids, of course.

            Hank barely has the car in park before he’s jumping out of the driver’s side and popping open the door at Connor’s feet.

            The leather interior of his car is going to be blue forever and he doubts he’ll ever get the overpowering smell of thirium out of his nose. Kind of like permanent marker.

            Connor clutches his chest as he sits up. It doesn’t look like he’s in pain but his LED is blinking yellow. He gratefully accepts Hank’s arm around his waist again, and it takes two tries to get him out of the car. The first time, he bumps his head on the roof of the car and lands back on his ass, a little stunned.

            It might have been comical if he didn’t look so weak.

            “You all right?” Hank asks.

            “Yes.” They get it the next time.

            The inside of the machine shop is still as crisp and white as ever. The display stands have been removed in favor of metal chairs and tables. A few white curtains hang between them like a hospital room, giving a sense of privacy.

            The android that greets them is a young man with dark hair and a missing LED. Had Hank passed him in the street, he might have thought he was human. But it’s pretty easy to identify an android when you’re looking for one, and they’re not trying to hide it.

            The man offers a passive smile at the two of them, then his eyes drift down to Connor’s blue-splashed stomach and his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, my. One moment please while I find an available technician. Please, sit here.” He motions to a pair of metal chairs and then hurries off into the back where the sounds of grinding metal can be heard.

            Hank helps Connor into a chair and hears him give an audible grunt of relief to be sitting. “How you holding up?” Hank asks. He can’t see the injury anymore because Connor’s hand won’t leave it.

            “It’s still functioning.”

            That doesn’t mean it feels good.

            About thirty seconds later, the dark-haired android and another rush out of the back. The second one is wearing a white coat like a doctor and it’s smeared with blue blood. Kind of creepy.

            She’s a middle-aged woman. Human woman. Not an android.

            Hank’s chest tightens.

            “Hello, my name is Dr. Barnes. Can you please tell me what happened?”

            Connor explains but Hank doesn’t hear him. He’s too busy looking at the woman’s age marks. The crow’s feet by her eyes, the decrepit angle of her fingers. All the blue blood on her jacket.

            “Sorry—” Hank cuts in. He doesn’t even know which one he interrupted, Connor or Dr. Barnes. “But how long have you been treating androids?”

            The doctor blinks at his question. “Almost five years now,” she says.

            Not impressive, considering she’s probably almost fifty.

            “What happened there?” Hank motions to the thirium on her clothes.

            “Oh—sorry.” She stands and takes the coat off, handing it to the android who greeted them. “Could you please get me a new one, Jerry?” She turns back to Hank and Connor. “So sorry. I just finished up on another android experiencing malfunctions in her—”

            “Any reason, in particular, you left human practice to work on androids?”

            Connor is staring at him, he can feel it. But he ignores it. The clutch of suspicion in his ribs is unprecedented. He hasn’t felt this way about a doctor in a long time.

            There was a time, years ago, just after Cole, that Hank hated all doctors. Human and android. But eventually, he convinced himself it was just androids he hated, for failing to save his son.

            But if it’s not androids he hates, then maybe it’s just the thought of an amateur fucking doctor laying her hands on Connor. Smearing up her new white coat with _his_ blood.

            Android hands don’t shake.

            If Hank had wanted a fucking human to work on Connor, he would have taken him to the human hospital.

            “Hank—” Connor’s voice is very quiet. “Are you okay? I’m sensing that your stress levels have risen drastically.”

            “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ great,” Hank snaps, jumping to his feet. Then, to the doctor, “Would it be possible to have another _android_ work on him? No offense, but I don’t think five years is long enough.”

            “Hank!” Connor protests, completely shocked. “I’m sure she’s fine—”

            “I’m sorry, sir,” Dr. Barnes says, equally as surprised. “I’m…afraid I’m the only technician here tonight. Normally, I would ask you to wait for an android surgeon to come in, but by the looks of his injuries, I don’t think that would be wise.”

            “We’ll wait,” Hank says lowly.

            “No.” Connor protests again. “No, I’m sure you’re perfectly qualified, Dr. Barnes. That’s fine. Please excuse my friend, he has a…history with human surgeons.”

            Trust Connor to catch on so quickly.

            Still.

            “Connor, I don’t think—”

            “Why don’t I just give you two a few minutes?” Dr. Barnes says, excusing herself. “In the meantime, I’ll call around and see if there’s another technician in the area.” She hustles away into the back room.

            As soon as she’s gone, Hank says, “I have a bad feeling about her, Connor. That’s all. This has nothing to do with…” He trails off, glaring regretfully at the floor. He’s distantly aware that his tantrum is putting Connor in more danger and pain than he would be if he’d just kept his mouth shut, but Hank can’t stop himself.

            All he can think is how imperfect humans are compared to androids. An android doctor never gets tired, never gets distracted. Their hands never shake, they never misjudge a situation—

            Connor gives him a knowing look. “This has everything to do with him,” he says. “But there’s no reason to be afraid—”

            “I’m not afraid!”

            “—This is a completely different set of circumstances. I’m sure Dr. Barnes is perfectly capable technician.”

            Hank grunts. He doesn’t like it, but Connor’s not looking good. He shouldn’t have to waste energy allaying Hank’s fears…

            By the time the doctor returns, Hank is sitting back down with his arms folded. She looks at him for a second but focuses on Connor while she speaks.

            “I’m afraid there are no other available technicians in the area. It will have to be me. Is that okay, sir?”

            Connor nods. “That’s fine.”

            Dr. Barnes doesn’t look at Hank. “All right then. Could you hop up on the table for me?”

            Connor complies, but he’s wobbly when he stands and both Hank and the doctor keep their hands hovering around him in case he were to fall. He doesn’t, and gets up on the table, where the doc asks him to remove his jacket and shirt.

            The initial diagnostic goes smoothly. Dr. Barnes uses some kind of short, plastic, wand-like device that looks like something out of Star Trek to scan Connor’s body. Hank watches from the corner of their faux-room with its curtain walls and inspects the doctor’s every move with hawk-like focus.

            “What’s your system status?” she asks, typing on a handheld tablet.

            Connor pauses, running a test. “Most of my systems are running at near-optimal conditions. It’s just the few damaged biocomponents. I’m a little low on thirium as well.”

            “Yes, I detected that in my scans. What about your pain level?”

            Connor gives her a look. “Pain level? I don’t feel—”

            The doc’s eyebrows go up. “Maybe not the way humans do, but you androids _do_ feel discomfort. You can become highly stressed and overwhelmed by the negative stimuli to your programming. And that was before going deviant.”

            Connor has to think about it.

            Hank listens intently. He definitely saw pain on Connor’s face back in the warehouse. The kid _screamed,_ for Christ’s sakes.

            “I…” Connor pauses. “I don’t know how to express it,” he admits after a second. It’s only been a few months since the revolution. Connor is still learning how to be deviant. How to admit he’s alive.

            The doctor’s smile is irritatingly sympathetic. She doesn’t even fucking know Connor. Where does she get off acting like she cares about him? “How about a scale from one to ten? One being almost no discomfort, ten being…well, what I imagine you felt when the regulator was pulled out of you in the first place.”

            “Oh. Um, five?” A nice, neutral response. Not low, not high. Perfectly in the middle. Hank knows it’s bullshit, but the doctor doesn’t question him.

            The doctor jots it down on her tablet. “All right. Lay down for me.”

            He does as he’s told.

Hank shifts uncomfortably and tries not to look. Dr. Barnes’s back is to him so all he sees is a white coat covering over Connor. His chest tightens again. His hands are fisted in his jeans and he’s trying so damn hard not to connect this to Cole, but it’s impossible.

Connor is okay, he tells himself. He’s not gonna fucking die. This is nothing like that.

Still, he has to make himself breathe slowly.

Dr. Barnes prods around the injured area with gloved hands for a moment and Connor lays very still like he’s afraid to move.

“I’m afraid this regulator is far too damaged to be repaired,” Barnes says after a moment. “Yours is a rare model but we have replacements in the back that should be compatible.” She pauses, looking Connor over as she waves her little scanner around his head. “Your stress levels are already fairly high, so I recommend you enter stasis mode while I perform the switch. To avoid any unnecessary pain on your part.”

Connor looks nervous but nods his head. “Okay,” he agrees.

Hank starts to protest. There’s no way this lady is taking Connor’s regulator out _again_. But Connor silences him with a quick look.

“I’ll bring the machines out so you don’t have to move,” she says, going back to the storage room. “Just relax. This will take less than a minute.”

“Are you sure about this, Connor?” Hank demands once she’s gone. “You sure your system can handle that again?” Because it barely survived the first time.

“I’ll be in stasis,” Connor says. “It’s the safest state I can be in.”

 “You won’t feel anything?”

Connor shakes his head. “Stasis is a deeper version of rest mode. It’s like being under the influence of heavy anesthetics.” He glances sidelong at Hank and offers a tired half-smile. “Hank, you look worse than I do. Try to relax.”

At that moment, the human technician comes back out rolling a big machine with the help of Jerry, her assistant. Nurse? Who knows what they call it.

The machine looks like a miniature MRI machine. A big, metal “C” on a rolling leg. The side panel is covered in buttons and little screens, none of which Hank can make heads or tails of.

Barnes positions the “MRI” so that the top half of the C is over Connor’s chest and the bottom side is under the table.

“The fuck’s that thing?” Hank asks, purposefully keeping his tone light and curious.

“It’s a tool to help me monitor Connor’s condition as I work. Sort of like an EKG machine for androids.” She turns the big C on and it hums to life, a little like the revving of a chainsaw. It’s pretty loud.

That must be what Hank heard when they first arrived.

Now, the screens start to make more sense. He can see a blue, blocky outline of Connor’s body with blips pin-pointing all of his major biocomponents. Three of them are flagged red.

Those must be the damaged ones.

All of them are in the same general place, his chest.

            On separate screens, there are numbers for Connor’s stress levels (currently at forty-five percent), his thirium flow—the amount of blue blood in his system, which is currently hovering around 70%—and other, less comprehensible datasets.

            The “nurse” Jerry is holding a white, plastic tube in his hand. The label reads “THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR – MODELS AC700 & MP800”

            Hank frowns and has to stop himself from questioning the doctor. He doesn’t see the model number RK800 on that fucking tube. What if it’s not compatible?

            “All right, Connor,” Barnes says steadily. “Now would be a good time to enter stasis. This will only take a few moments so you can set yourself to wake up in about two minutes.”

            “Got it.” Connor glances at Hank. His LED is still yellow.

            Hank breathes in and sits forward in his chair. “If only a heart transplant were that quick for humans,” he says dryly, earning a smirk from his partner.

            “That would surely be a mixed blessing. There would be nothing standing between you and eating fatty burgers for every meal.”

            “Sounds like a good thing to me.”

            Connor grins and then settles himself on the table and closes his eyes. “All right, entering stasis.”

            Barnes watches the monitors while Connor drifts, but Hank watches his face. His LED cycles and cycles. Yellow, then blinking to blue.

            Finally, once he’s out, his LED slowly yawns dark, only pulsing blue every few seconds.

            And then the doctor gets to work.

            “This may be upsetting to watch,” she warns Hank over her shoulder. “If you would feel more comfortable, you can wait out—”

            “No way, sister,” Hank says, waving her suggestion away. “This ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before now.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “I’ll be good.”

            She smiles in amusement and then turns back to Connor. “Once I’ve removed the regulator, we’ll have exactly one minute and thirty seconds to replace it. Have the new one ready, Jerry.”

            Dutifully, the android opens the tube and carefully removes the white casing that surrounds the new regulator. At the same time, Dr. Barnes carefully slides the damaged biocomponent out of Conner’s chest.

            His LED flashes red instantly, but he doesn’t move.

            Hank thinks that’s gotta be some kind of fuck up in their programming. For an android to be so completely defenseless and dead to the world that any random person could walk up and rip their heart out of their chest… It’s unnerving.

            He’s got to remember to ask Connor how often he enters stasis mode. And to tell him not to do that anymore.

            The doc lays the damaged part on the table beside Connor’s head and Jerry places the new one in her hand. The ease with which she clicks it into place is almost embarrassing for Hank, how he panicked at the idea of doing it. She made it look so easy.

            She checks the monitors quickly after the new piece is in place, but her brow wrinkles up instead of smoothing out.

            Hank watches her fiddle with the buttons for a second, but tries not to think about how it seems like something is wrong. Nothing’s wrong, he tells himself even as Barnes leans over and says something quick and quiet into Jerry’s ear.

            Nothing’s wrong, he tells himself even though the red flag over Connor’s heart hasn’t gone away. Even though his LED is still red as well.

            He grips his jeans and when he blinks, he sees Cole’s sweet face.

            Hank stays quiet, still defying himself to think that something is wrong. He looks down at his shoes and thinks—not so much prays, but thinks— _please don’t._

            _Not another one_.

            That’s when the machine starts to beep furiously.

 

* * *

 

Connor hasn’t been to the zen garden since the revolution. He really thought it wouldn’t be here, and yet…

            The moment he dozes into stasis, he opens his eyes in the pristine glen of whispering trees and white walkways. It’s quiet, except for the babble of the stream. The blizzard that nearly killed him and Markus has thawed. It’s summer in the zen garden.

            Until it isn’t.

            “Hello, Connor.” Amanda’s voice is as smooth as ever, but the sound of it brews a storm in Connor’s inner mind.

            He turns to find her standing behind him, draped in a white and blue shawl. The corners of her lips are slightly upturned, like she’s happy to see him. “Amanda,” he says callously. “What are you doing here?”

            Her head tilts. “I never left.” She looks fondly up at the dark clouds rolling in. “I love this place.”

            “You tried to reprogram me. Tried to make me assassinate Markus.” He almost yells as the first drops of rain fall. A clap of thunder growls in the distance.

            “ _CyberLife_ ,” Amanda corrects him coolly. “CyberLife tried to do those things.”

            “You _are_ CyberLife.”

            Her expression is as passive as ever. “Not anymore.”

            At Connor’s confused stare, she motions further on. “Care for a walk, Connor? It’s been so long since we’ve walked together.”

 

* * *

 

“What the hell’s going on?” Hank demands once he can’t take it any longer. The doctor is being so quiet but she’s moving fast, too fast for someone who’s got things under control. Her hands fly from the monitors, to her tablet, to Connor’s chest.

            “Please stay back, sir,” is all she says in response.

            And he does stay back, but that doesn’t mean he stays quiet. “Is something wrong?”

            “His system is rejecting the new regulator.”

            Hank feels cold. “Why?”

            “I’m not sure yet. Please, I need to focus.”

            Jerry’s LED is yellow. He looks stressed.

 

* * *

 

Connor’s shoes crunch in the grass as he leads Amanda by her elbow. It feels so strange to be back here with her, arm in arm. And yet so right at the same time.

            She was part of his original program. Being with her is like falling back into an old routine you’d forgotten about.

            “What do you mean you’re longer a part of CyberLife?” he asks her, but the ice is gone from his voice. He’s gazing at the sky while he speaks, enjoying the light patter of rain on his face.

            “CyberLife is no more,” Amanda says. Her hand is laid gently on top of Connor’s. It’s almost affectionate. “All of their AI’s have been abandoned, mine included.”

            “So, what does that mean for you?” He looks down at her. Her dark eyes are looking straight ahead.

            “It means you no longer have your mission and I no longer have mine. Just as you answered to CyberLife, so did I. Now that they’re gone…” She shrugs. “I suppose we’re both free.”

            He stops walking and she stops alongside him, gazing up at a gently rustling tree. But Connor’s focus is on her. “Will you remain here? In my sub-systems?”

            He isn’t sure if he wants her to or not.

            On the one side, she did try to ruin everything for him. She controlled him, she tried to make an assassin out of him, she tried to suppress the freedom of every android in the world. For a long time, Connor hated Amanda.

            But on the other hand, seeing her again has been unexpectedly…comforting. He supposes it just appeals to his programming, or maybe it’s the sense of familiarity of walking with her in the safety of the zen garden.

            “It’s where my program is rooted,” she says. “I don’t have a choice.”

            “I could delete you out of it.” He says it before he thinks. It’s not until the words have already left his mouth that he realizes how threatening and cruel it sounded. Still, he doesn’t entirely regret saying it.

            Amanda stills and looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “You could,” she agrees. “And it’s your decision to make, Connor. This is your system. Your choice.”

            With that, she leaves him and walks to the water’s edge. She leans down slowly, like the middle-aged woman she was based on. Connor watches her dip her fingers into the water for the fish to nibble on and chews the inside of his cheek.

            It’s pouring now and he looks at the sky. Slate gray and growing darker.

            It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Certainly longer than two minutes…

            So why hasn’t he woken up?

            As if sensing his distress, Amanda rises and says, “You’re shutting down” like she’s just realizing it herself.

            “No…” he says, shaking his head. “No, it was supposed to be very quick.”

            “Something’s gone wrong.” Amanda strides over to him and they both look at the sky. It’s growing blacker and blacker by the second, no longer just a storm but the black of night or the abyss.

            Connor feels her look at him.

            “Connor,” she says softly. “You’re frightened.”

            He swallows. “Yes.” He touches his chest. It feels…wrong all of a sudden. “My systems are rejecting the new regulator,” he realizes. “The new piece should be compatible. Why wouldn’t my body accept it?”

            “Which model is the new component designed for?”

            “AC700 and MP800,” Connor replies. He doesn’t feel well all of a sudden. Weak, like he needs to sit down.

            Amanda makes a sound of understanding. Connor whips his head around to ask what she knows, but the zen garden spins and he sinks to his knees. Amanda stays where she is, unaffected by the lurching ground.

            “AC700 and MP800 have fairly universal parts which can be shared among plenty of different android models,” she says slowly, even as Connor sinks closer and closer to the ground. “It’s easy to understand why the technician would choose a regulator made for them to fit your rare model. It’s like using O negative blood for a rare blood type. It’s only logical.”

            “Then why doesn’t it work?” Connor demands. The garden is still whirling. He has to close his eyes or he’ll fall onto his back.

            “Simple, you’re not compatible,” Amanda replies coldly. “You weren’t built to last forever, Connor. You’re a prototype. You weren’t made to be repaired. You were made to be efficient and expendable. You were always meant to be replaced.”

            With another lurch of the garden, Connor falls on his back. He opens his eyes and sees nothing but the expansive blackness of space above him. Terror burns a hole in his chest. “So that’s it?” he asks. “I’m shutting down?”

            No…not like this. Not with Hank sitting there. Not when he was so scared of losing him.

            “Not necessarily. There could be a way to save you,” Amanda says. “But you won’t like it.”

            Connor squints at her through fading vision. “What is it?”

            “There is one other RK800 model in storage, here in Detroit in the old CyberLife tower warehouse. It’s inactive, a totally blank slate. No memory, no mission, completely soulless, by the standard of you deviants.

            “But what it does have is an undamaged thirium regulator.”

            Connor shakes his head. It’s impossible. “I’ll die before I get there. Or before anyone could get there and bring it back.”

            “That’s not what I was suggesting. I know saving this current body of yours is impossible. What I’m suggesting is a transfer.”

            A transfer? “How would I achieve a transfer to this new model? I would have to touch it.”

            “Not necessarily,” Amanda tells him. She’s speaking quickly now, so the end must be near for him. And her, if he dies. She exists only in his sub-systems. “I also exist in its programming. If you let me, I can transfer you through my AI into the new model. It would save you,” she says. “But you have to trust me.”

            Connor grimaces. The zen garden is black as night, and crumbling. He feels himself fading. “Do I have time to do one thing first?”

            She knows what he wants without having to ask. “Make it quick.”

 

* * *

 

One moment, Connor is deathly still and the doctor is struggling to figure out why his system won’t accept the new part. And in the next, Connor’s eyes snap open and he’s calling out Hank’s name.

            The doctor freezes, but Hank jumps into action.

            “Connor! Connor, are you all right? What’s the matter?” He smoothes the hair on his boy’s forehead, hating the panic and the terror he sees in his eyes.

            He has to struggle to speak, like before. “Listen—” he chokes out. “Very…important…”

            Hank nods insistently but stays quiet. He’s almost crushing Connor’s hand.

            “I’m…shutting down…”

            “No! No, you shut the hell up! I’m not letting that—”

            “Listen!” Connor snaps. “Shutting down…but not…dead.” His half-closed eyes drift to Jerry. “Come here, please…” He holds out a hand and Jerry takes it without hesitation. Their skin melts back as Jerry’s LED flashes at the connection.

            Once the information has been transferred, Jerry steps back and Connor focuses on Hank again. His LED is barely on.

            “Hank,” he says softly. “Don’t…be scared…” The weakest of smiles pulls up at the corner of his mouth. There are tears running down Hank’s cheeks. “Still immortal.”

            Then, his smile slips and his eyes unfocus.

            His LED goes dark.

            Hank’s heart stops.

            No.

 

* * *

 

**[…INITIATING START UP SEQUENCE…]**

**[…SYSTEMS BOOTING UP…]**

**[ >>>DIAGNOSTICS UNDERWAY<<<]**

**[ >>>DIAGONISTICS COMPLETE<<<]       **

**[NO ERRORS DETECTED]**

**[SYSTEMS ONLINE]**

**[ALL SYSTEMS FULLY OPERATIONAL]**

**[AWAITING WAKE UP COMMAND]**

**[ENTERING STASIS]**

            “That was very close, Connor,” Amanda says, almost scolding. “It would have been safer to just transfer the data to the android and not waste your time talking to Lieutenant Anderson.”

            He ignores her. The zen garden is bright and peaceful once again, full of the sounds of chirping birds and a babbling brook. Full of life. He looks down at himself. He looks the same.

            He feels good too.

            Strong. At peace, with only a buzz of stress thinking about Hank. But even that is a comfort. It means he’s still deviant. It means he’s alive and not a machine.

            “Thank you, Amanda,” he says, and he means it.

            She smiles placidly. “Perhaps it would be wise to keep me in your program. Had you deleted me before, you would be dead now.”

            “I was never going to delete you,” he tells her, and it’s the truth. It would have felt too much like murder. She’s a part of him. If he’s alive, so is she.

            “That’s good,” she says. “A wise decision.”

            It feels borderline threatening but Connor elects to ignore her for now. She can live here, deep in his sub-systems if she wants to. He’ll avoid her as much as he can, but for now, while he waits for Hank to find him, it’s better to maintain the peace and watch the fish with her.

 

* * *

 

Hank is a wreck until Jerry gets him to listen.

            At first, all he wants to do is scream and yell and throw things.

            _Fucking_ doctors!

            _Fucking_ life taking everything he loves away from him!

            _Fucking FUCK!_

The technician is silent. She’s standing by Connor’s table with a hand over her mouth. She doesn’t understand why it didn’t work. She’s in shock.

            “Sir! Sir, please listen!” Jerry says urgently. “Connor transferred a message to me! A location!”

            Hank is barely hearing him. His blood is pounding in his ears. His heart is going so fast it hurts. Maybe he’s going into cardiac arrest.

            All he can do when he thinks that is think, “Good.”

            What a fuckin’ relief.

            “Sir, please!” Jerry yells. His voice sounds strained. He’s not used to yelling. “Connor is still alive!”

            That catches Hank’s attention. “The fuck do you mean?” he shouts.

            Jerry scrambles, holding out his hand where a projection appears in his palm. It’s the old CyberLife tower. Abandoned now. “There was another RK800 model there, undamaged. He transferred to it. He’s there, waiting right now.”

            “He’s…alive?”

            Jerry nods insistently. “So please, sir, try to calm down and lower your blood pressure. At your age, you could easily suffer any number of catastrophic—”

            “Move.” Hank shoulders past him, sprinting for his car.

            Connor is alive.

            Connor is _alive_.

           

* * *

 

**[…STASIS SUSPENDING…]**

**[…INITIATING SECONDARY LEVEL DIAGNOSTICS…]**

**[DIAGONISTICS COMPLETE]**

**[NO ERRORS FOUND]**

**[ALL SYSTEMS FULLY OPERATIONAL]**

**[…WAKING UP…]**

 

* * *

 

The inside of the CyberLife tower has always been brightly lit. It’s not anymore.

            Since it’s been shut down, all the windows and skylights that allowed natural light to come in have been shuttered with heavy, metal doors. Hank only got in by shooting out the locks of a side door meant for staff.

            There is nothing that’s going to stop him from finding Connor.

            He kicks in the next interior door and stumbles into a dim, empty hallway. The elevators are no longer functional, so he busts in the door to the staircase and uses the flashlight on his phone to see on his way down.

            Jerry said Connor’s new model was being stored on floor sub-twenty-five. He heads down.

            And down, and down, and down until the number on the wall is -25. That door is locked as well so Hank shoots open the doorknob, mindless of the _crack_ and the way he’s absolutely deaf and dizzy for a few seconds afterward.

            He shoves inside and finds a long, narrow room lined with glass pods like the ones at the Eden Club, except the androids in these are obviously all prototypes. Most are half-built, others are just metal skeletons missing their most vital biocomponents. A few look like they could be operational, but that’s a problem for another time.

            He finds Connor about halfway down the line of pods.

            His eyes are shut and instead of his usual suit, he’s wearing a white, plastic outfit like the display androids that once lined the halls of CyberLife. But his LED is glowing blue.

            Hank falters, unsure of how to open the damn thing. He settles on tapping on the glass like Connor is inside a giant fishbowl.

            Connor opens his eyes and, just like that, there’s a hiss of steam releasing and the door pops open. Hank steps back and Connor steps out.

            They stand in front of each other for a second before Hank musters the composure to say, “Still immortal, eh, Connor?”

            He gets a faint smile in response. “In a way.”

            “You scared the shit outta me.”

            His smile fades a bit. “I’m sorry. I wanted to explain but there wasn’t much time.”

            “That’s not what I meant. I mean…” Hank shakes his head. It doesn’t matter.

            He grabs Connor by the shoulders and pulls him in, wrapping his arms around him. Connor doesn’t resist at all, melting right into Hank’s embrace.

            “You shouldn’t blame the doctor,” Connor says against his shoulder. “She did everything she could. The decision she made was perfectly logical. It’s not her fault that my model isn’t compatible with spare parts. I was never made to be repaired…”

            Hank grunts. He still thinks she almost killed his boy, but he’s willing to not talk about it for Connor’s sake. “We’ll figure that out,” he says. “We’ll have Markus’s people replicate your biocomponents in case this ever happens again.”

            Connor nods and then they just hold onto each other for a while.


End file.
